


Brilliant

by lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, Fingerfucking, Flirting, Tribadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 06:07:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10656498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumosed_quill/pseuds/lq_traintracks
Summary: Lots of people get that Hermione is brilliant, but finally someone comes along that gets that she's exceptional.





	Brilliant

**Author's Note:**

> For femslashficlets' prompt, 'brilliant'.

"Brilliant!" Ron would say when she'd agree to so much as write the first two lines of an essay for him.

"Brilliant," when she came up with the right information in order for Harry to save the day.

"Brilliant," from countless professors – oh it's not arrogance, if that's what you're thinking. It's just what they always said, what was expected of her. 

Brilliance. 

And two, three years out of Hogwarts, it had been no different. Her boss at the Ministry, her colleagues, _"Brilliant! Brilliant! Brilliant!"_ Hermione was, as ever, the smart girl, the clever girl. Until, at some point, she was the smart and clever woman. It made little difference.

She didn't have time for a lot of dates. That's what she told herself, hair pulled up and twisted 'round, held off her neck by a well-placed quill. Cardigans were her uniform of choice. Sometimes a crisp button-up blouse, all but one button cinched tight.

The dates she _did_ go on she tended to find herself prattling on and on about new international magical cooperation law, which seemed to fetch a good deal of vacant staring and an occasionally muttered, "Yes, well that's… brilliant, isn't it?"

_Check please!_

Nice blokes, most of them. She and Ron had made a go of it, obviously. A year and one mended broken heart later, she'd accepted a date with Colin Creevey. Merlin, what a mistake, that! A smattering of others over the next ten years, and dear lord, had it been ten years already?

And then…

It had been at one of those fancy things the Ministry threw for no good reason. It wasn't war-related; she remembered those – mostly because of how much Harry whinged about having to attend. He had a vault just for his medals now, she was sure. Not that he didn't deserve them, mind. But it wasn't that. Wasn't Christmas. No, it was probably some shindig they'd thrown to celebrate a change in the official stationery. Merlin knew.

All Hermione remembered was…

"Granger. You're looking brilliant."

Pansy Parkinson in a tight red dress. Scarlet actually. Not discreet in the least. 

"Pansy, you're looking…" Hermione had said the first thing she'd thought, seeing the empty Champagne flute in her nonchalant grasp. "…thirsty."

For whatever reason that had sparked a predatory look in Pansy's eye. She'd stepped closer, close enough that their arms brushed, sending shivers all over Hermione's skin. She'd tugged at the already-high neck of her own more practical dress.

Conversation ensued, and there seemed to be no getting rid of her. After a few minutes – or actually about an hour, in hindsight – Hermione realised she didn't exactly want to. Pansy Parkinson could quip international magical law with her one moment and then insult Luna Lovegood's outfit the next.

"That's not very nice," Hermione had managed, though a huff of a laugh had followed. Because for Merlin's sake, purple taffeta with emerald sequins and a rainbow feather boa, Luna? What in bloody hell? It hurt the eyes even to have a glance at her. 

"I've had one glass more than I should have," Pansy had said. "Care to side-along me home?"

It shouldn't have made Hermione feel all that scandalised. Truly. It was only what happened next that qualified the sensation as spot-on accurate.

Because Pansy had pulled her in the front door and landed a kiss on Hermione's lips that could melt moonstone.

Hermione hadn't known why she didn't say no. Perhaps because she hadn't gotten laid in precisely two and a half years' time. Perhaps because the way Pansy touched her turned her wet in an instant – and then wetter still with each passing one.

Perhaps because when Pansy had peeled open her dress and unhooked Hermione's bra, her gaze had flared with incendiary intent before she'd lowered her smartly-coiffed head and taken one of Hermione's nipples into her hot mouth.

They'd made it to the bed just in time, and Hermione had fallen on it, half-dressed still, Pansy's hands lighting her up as she writhed on fresh sheets. Pansy's clever fingers skated Hermione's knickers off, her head descending as she'd pressed Hermione's thighs apart and…

"Oh _god!_ " Hermione had keened.

And when she came, it was the first of three times that evening. From Pansy's mouth, from her fingers, from the heat and fury and magic of their then-naked bodies rippling against one another… And if only Hermione had previously known the power of sinking her hand between a woman's legs and making her sound like _that_ … The force of it mesmerized her well into those quiet moments before sleep.

It had then come as a whisper that brought Hermione briefly back to consciousness on her way to nodding off, and it was something she'd not have wanted to miss.

"You're _brilliant_."

Hermione had held her breath a moment, until Pansy, nude and soft and unselfconscious, rolled over onto her stomach and then stilled – and then Hermione had run her hand over the swell of Pansy's arse, eliciting a sleepy wiggle. Hermione had snuggled, then, into bergamot-scented pillows, a smile on her lips, and fallen asleep.


End file.
